He slid in with no resistance.
They both sighed like they’d been holding their breath for days. For a long moment, they didn’t move, just held each other tight.
She stirred against him first, restless, needy.
And he responded. His rhythm was hard, desperate, hips driving into her like he needed to feel her down to the marrow of his bones. The steam thickened. The sounds of water and flesh slapping against flesh and soft gasps filled the room.
She clenched around him as he pulsed inside her, both coming too fast, too soon.
But it didn’t matter.
They stayed like that, wrapped around each other, forehead to forehead, hearts thundering, while the water washed everything else away.
When they finally finished bathing and brushed their teeth, they went back into the bedroom. They moved like magnets, still clinging to each other.
Thane’s arm never left her waist. His hand rested possessively at the small of her back, his thumb tracing lazy circles as though reassuring himself she was real, warm, alive. Faolan pressed her face to his chest, her fingers fisting the fabric at his ribs, inhaling the scent of him—clean skin, soap, and Thane.
He kissed the top of her head.
Then, after a long moment, he muttered, “I don’t like the way Maro looks at you.”
Her lips quirked against his sternum. “That’s because Maro looks at everyone like he’s deciding whether they’re worth dissecting.”
Thane didn’t laugh. His hold just tightened. “I mean it. He wants you.”
She looked up, her chin grazing his chest. “You really think I’d look at anyone else?”
That earned her a long, weighted look. “No,” he admitted finally with a slightly crazed look in his eyes. “But I’d have to kill him if you did.”
Later, in the sanctuary of the bedroom, he dried her hair with a towel and then watched as she combed her hair with a wide toothed comb and applied moisturiser to her arms and legs. He had mapped every new cut and bruise with a storm in his eyes, then carried her to the bed like she was precious and breakable.
He left for a few minutes and returned with a tray filled with tea, toast, scrambled eggs, a few strawberries, and a bar of chocolate.
They ate cross-legged on the bed, laughing quietly about how none of it made sense together but somehow worked. She nibbled the chocolate last, and he stole half from her fingers with his mouth.
When they were done, he took the tray away and returned without a word.
One hand reached for her, and she came willingly.
This time was different.
There was no frenzy, no desperation. Just heat and patience.
Thane kissed her slowly, his tongue teasing hers, coaxing her to open. His hands roamed, curious, reverent. He kissed her collarbone, her ribs, the tender space beneath her breast. She arched into him with a soft sigh.
His fingers traced every inch of her, mapping her as though afraid to forget. Then, when she was slick and aching for him, he slid a finger inside—slow, deep, unhurried.
He kissed her neck, murmuring things in a voice that was barely a whisper. When she relaxed against him, he let his fingers wander, one slipping lower to stroke the tight ring of muscle there. She stiffened, just a little, but he waited.
Waited until her hips rolled with need. Waited until she moaned and reached for him.
He slid the bold finger in, slowly, watching her face.
She gasped but didn’t push him away.
And when he felt her relax, he pressed into her again, this time with his cock, filling her with a slow glide as his finger continued its gentle rhythm behind.
Her inner muscles gripped him tight. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated with the black eating the blue, leaving a thin rim as her body trembled with sensation as pleasure crested again and again.
